


Don't forget him

by Royal_Ermine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Gay Bucky Barnes, M/M, Soviet Union, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 20:17:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11905446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royal_Ermine/pseuds/Royal_Ermine
Summary: The Winter Soldier is assigned to kill a dissident composer in the dead of winter, and speaks of his love for a lost comrade





	Don't forget him

The winter of 1950 was the coldest and bleakest in years, or so they said.

Why they had insisted in sending him out in the dead of night he really didn’t know. The former rich-man’s Dachau was miles away from civilisation, snuggled into a forest clearing by the side of a frozen lake. He could have visited at any time of day and no-one would have heard the shot, or if they had, they’d have assumed there were hunters in the area. After all, there was nothing else to eat around there.

Eat. He hadn’t eaten in years, or so it seemed. When it got really cold, his stomach craved something, anything, just for the comfort; just for the warmth.

One single window betrayed a sliver of light from behind the thickly lined curtains. Enough evidence for him to know where he needed to strike first, and to be on his guard should the mission prove resistant. The only question now was the method of his entry, to sneak or to smash?

The question was resolved for him a few moments later when the back door opened and a diminutive figure draped in furs shambled out to collect a bundle of firewood, clearly oblivious to anything else but the pursuit of the kindling. 

He seized his chance.

Having removed the furs, the figure retreated back to the cosy glow of the living room and resumed his seat by the fire. He poured first one, and then two glasses of tea from the samovar on the sideboard.

“Won’t you come and join me?” he asked “You must be tired after your long journey”

The assassin didn’t move, his finger poised on the trigger; the man’s head in his crosshairs

“Later” he sighed “You can kill me later. Five minutes won’t make any difference, will it?”

Gingerly, the assassin crept up towards his mission 

“It’s warmer by the fire” he encouraged, gesturing to the empty armchair beside his own

The assassin slipped stealthily into the proffered seat

His mission sighed, handing over one of the steaming glasses “This should warm you up a little, my friend”

He sniffed suspiciously at the liquid

“I can assure you it’s safe” the mission reassured “It’s made to my mother’s recipe and it certainly didn’t kill her”

The assassin removed his mask and took a sip. Golden sweet tea trickled down his throat like a healing balm.

The mission smiled and relaxed a little

“Sorry I startled you before” he said “I’d had a tip off from a colleague, though with my reputation this could have happened at any time. He told me to run, but I wasn’t going to have you dash about the forest hunting me like some damned animal. It’s far too cold outside for such foolish games. Besides” he added “It’s not civilised”

The assassin nodded

“So, you’re the legendary Winter Soldier. I must say it’s a privilege and an honour to meet you, even though our acquaintance must necessarily be short”

“I don’t know anything about you” the soldier admitted

“Best that you don’t really, it makes life so much easier”

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no; sometimes it would be good to know why”

“My dear comrade, what a criminally capitalist concept. You must understand that the key to socialist paradise is obeying the rules for the good of the collective and not satisfying yourself as an individual. Who do you think you are?” the mission added, wryly “An American?”

“Now I know why you’ve been assigned to me” the soldier noted, grimly

“That, and my unforgivably bourgeois compositions. You know they actually made me condemn my own work at the composer’s union for being “unpatriotic” a couple of years back?” he continued, airily “Not as if that made the blindest bit of difference. I just couldn’t help myself. The final straw was starting this new project to compose a series of preludes and fugues. Not only do the authorities despise me for it, but I’ve had composer’s block for weeks anyway. I struggled as far as the seventh prelude and just gave up. Was my life worth sacrificing for this nonsense?”

“You talk too much” 

“True, but in a minute or so I dare say I’ll never talk again”

“Well, you got that right”

The mission nodded “Can I get you a refill on your tea?”

“No, but thank you anyway”

“How…” he hesitated, swallowing thickly “How are you going to do it?” 

“Through the head. It’ll be clean. I guarantee you won’t feel a thing”

“Is it okay…if I don’t see?”

The soldier shrugged “If that’s your wish. I can go back to where I was and pull the trigger when you least expect it. Would that be agreeable?”

“Thank you Comrade, I’d really appreciate that”

“Do you want to stand up?”

“What’s the advantage of that?”

“Well, if you stay in your seat, you’ll get blood on the armchair”

“Bugger the furniture. My wife Nina inherits everything anyway, assuming the authorities honour the will. I’m sure she’ll cope with a bit of housecleaning”

The soldier got to his feet, selecting a space just behind the grand piano, where he could pinpoint the mission’s temple in profile against the flickering firelight.

Silence lay heavy.

Through the crosshairs he could see the poor man trembling, anticipating the thunderbolt that would extinguish his life. 

He wasn’t made of stone.

“Do you want to talk some more? You know, to distract yourself?” he asked

“I…I can’t think of anything to say anymore. I’m too frightened. Can you talk to me instead?”

“Not part of my mission, Comrade”

“Please?” he begged

The soldier sighed, “Well, what do you want me to say?”

“Anything. It doesn’t matter. Call if a confessional if you like. I mean, it’s not as if I’m ever going to tell a living soul what you say, am I?”

The soldier released the safety catch on his rifle, leaning it against the piano lid for comfort. All he needed to do was gently squeeze…

“When you asked if I was an American, Comrade, I am”

“I never would have guessed, your accent is impeccable”

“Well, that was a long time ago. I’m a different person now”

The target nodded

“I’ve always been a soldier. I’ve always followed orders. Following orders is good. It means you don’t have to think”

“Have you ever heard the Russian folk legend called the “Soldier’s tale”, Comrade?”

“I’m not sure. Even if I had, I’m not permitted memories. You’ll have to remind me”

“Stravinsky composed a wonderful setting of it, but that’s not important right now. The story’s about a lost soldier, trying to get back home. He sells his fiddle to the devil to become wealthy, but finds the simple pleasure of music was more important than all the riches of the world. In the end, he throws all his money away, so that he can subdue the devil and snatch his fiddle back”

“I’m certainly a lost soldier, and I’ll never get back home”

“Never say never” the target suggested

“No” said the soldier, decisively “I’ve nothing to go back for now. I can barely remember anything about my past life anymore”

“But you do remember something, despite not being allowed memories?”

“Maybe” the soldier rechecked his grip on the trigger. If he felt this conversation was getting too personal, he’d just squeeze it away

“Love” announced the target

“What?”

“You must have been in love. That’s the strongest memory of all. Even if you’d lost that love, you’d never forget it”

“I think you’ve said enough” snarled the soldier

“I’m sorry. Love’s a painful thing, if you’ve lost it, or if you were never permitted it in the first place”

The soldier squeezed a little more firmly on the trigger, but curiosity bloomed within him

“What do you mean by “never permitted”?”

“There’s many kinds of forbidden love, Comrade. Love that crosses national or cultural boundaries, even…gender boundaries”

The soldier let out an involuntary shudder. Somehow the mission, super-sensitive to what were probably his last moments on earth, picked up on the tell-tale creak of the soldier’s leather jacket

“I see” he said, quietly “Don’t ask me how, but I thought so. It’s not my own glass of tea, you understand, but I work in the great tradition of Tchaikovsky and Diaghilev. That kind of love always brings out the best and the worst in people. If you’ve lost a fellow soldier, a comrade-in-arms, then you have my profound sympathies”

“I can’t remember. I’m not sure if he ever knew how I felt”

“Doesn’t matter” the target shrugged “It’s how you felt, and how feel right now that counts”

“I can’t get him out of my mind” the soldier shot, through gritted teeth

“Why would you want to? Love will keep you alive when everything else is dead”

“Who said I want to stay alive?”

“But don’t you see?” he pleaded “You have to; for his sake. He may be waiting for you, Comrade. He may be listening for your bugle call as keenly as you are listening for his. You have to stay alive for him”

“It was long ago. He’s probably dead”

“But you’re still alive. Who knows, perhaps he’s alive too?”

“And after what I’ve done, why would he even want me?”

“You’re a soldier. If he’s a soldier too, he’ll understand all this. War is full of conflict and dissonance. I wish that weren’t the case, I wish there was perfect harmony…”

His words were interrupted by the tinny insistence of a telephone on the desk in the centre of the room. The mission froze. The soldier froze. The telephone rattled and wailed on the polished walnut surface.

“Should…I get that?”

The soldier sighed “It guess it won’t harm. If you were going to make a run for it, you’d have done so by now”

The target slowly got to his feet, careful to make no sudden movements. 

He picked up the receiver

“Yes?”

“Oh”

He turned in the direction he’d heard the soldier’s voice “It’s for you”

He laid the receiver on the desk and retreated back to the armchair as the soldier approached

The handler’s voice was cold, impassive: “Asset, report”

“Target acquired. Mission currently incomplete”

“Good. Target has been reprieved. Abort your mission immediately”

The line cut off abruptly

The soldier turned to his host

“It seems your life has been spared. You must have powerful connections, Comrade”

“If I do, then I don’t know how I’ll ever begin to repay them”

“Time will solve that mystery”

“As it will yours, Comrade Soldier”

“I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that if you so much as breathe a word…”

“I don’t remember you” his host cut in, with a sad smile “And I dare say pretty soon you won’t remember me either”

“That’s correct”

“But don’t forget him, Comrade. Keep that memory alive, for your sake, and for his”

“I will. Thank you…?”

“Dmitri” confirmed his host

“Thank you Dmitri, and may you soon find a way out of your composer’s block”

“You know, I think I may have just had a flash of inspiration” Dmitri smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Dmitri Dmitriyevich Shostakovich was born in 1906 and was a notable Russian composer and pianist. He composed his 24 Preludes and Fugues (Op 87) between 1950 and 1951, an era of great artistic oppression in the Soviet Union during which his music, and the music of his greatest inspiration Igor Stravinsky, was publically denounced.
> 
> Fugue no 7 in A major has an evocative bugle-like call as its main theme. It is harmonically unique in that the triads of this call are uninterrupted and there is no perception of dissonance at any time. This creates the impression of perfect harmony throughout the composition.
> 
> You can listen to a beautiful rendition of this piece [commencing at 1:25] from the following YouTube link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a-1T8yOs6TM 
> 
>  
> 
> Dmitri Shostakovich died in 1975.


End file.
